Doppelganger
by Frenetic-Kinetic
Summary: DMC3. AU. Vergil encounters…himself? No, it's just the Doppelganger mimicking his appearance. After a brief skirmish, the situation takes a turn for the worse-or is that better? The half-breed isn't quite sure. One-shot.


**A/N:** I rewrote practically all of this and updated the synopsis. Now it's much better. :)

* * *

The argent-haired male pressed all of his weight into his arms, easily pushing the door ajar, and was met with yet another empty room. Endless travelling through the otherworld that was the vast tower of Temen-ni-gru had tired his mind, yet there was a compulsion to continue doing so. A gust of wind halted his pacing. Instinctively, a hand came to the hilt of Yamato, body shifting to a defensive pose.

The breeze calmed, thick threads of black stitching together in the middle of the room to form a figure somewhat human, although possessing the countenance of a creature unholy. "Thought it was you…"

_That sounds like…_me_?_ Bewilderment turned to suspicion; something obviously wasn't quite right. Ice blue optics widened at the oddity of the figure's darkness morphing into a visage most unexpected. Even more reason to pull the katana out of it sheath, the hybrid surmised; especially now that he knew what it was. _Who_ it was.

_The Doppelganger._

White locks, cool eyes, sharp features and the trademark sapphire trench coat-not a detail was missed by the demon that had dared to take Vergil's form. A smirk crossed the latter's lips, but his arrogance was only superficial. This would be a tad awkward if that creature could mimic the Dark Slayer style. But just as he began to plan a strategy, the mimic abruptly vanished, leaving behind the barest of cobalt trails.

Yamato was tugged out at lightning speed, its deadly blade clashing with a pseudo counterpart. The demon had reappeared. Pulling back, it swung once again. And again. Each and every time was simply blocked by Vergil's skill with the sword. The pair separated. This was nothing like the fight with Dante atop Temen-ni-gru. _Nothing_. Fighting himself was a greater challenge than his brother. And that Doppelganger was fast. _Very_ fast.

The half-breed damned his distracted mind. It had given his opponent a chance to use the opening and strike. The false O-Katana spun and was parried in the nick of time. Hilts jammed and arms crossed. The two found themselves locked, unable to break free. It became very clear from those moves that this had all been on purpose, but what remained was why.

The Doppelganger swung round before the son of Sparda had time to react, laying the latter on its knee. The demon carefully unhooked its arm and stroked a hand down one cheek. The strange was only getting stranger, and staring at his own mischievous smirk-let alone that tender touch-wasn't Vergil's idea of a good time. The creature leant closer, a forefinger passed over the vulnerable male's soft lips whilst other digits caressing his pallid locks. A panic alarm rang within the male's heart. He had to fight it off. Fidgeting to get at least an arm free was constantly counteracted and it only instigated stalemate.

Not keen to let the half-breed attempt another escape, the mimic stretched one leg over, hanging the limb between its victim's legs. A wild gaze spread over the beast's eyes. The hybrid could only wonder what its next move would entail…

Although he hadn't expected it to proceed quite like _this_.

Heterochromous optics, choppy tendrils of dark brown and tight curves replaced the instantly recognisable blue and white combination. The male's countenance lit up with shock, his frame frozen to the spot, as he observed the transformation. The face was instantly recognisable, but it didn't mean he wanted to know the identity.

_Arkham's daughter. Why-?_

With barely another second passing, the Doppelganger locked its lips around the former's. There remained protest. Thrashing. Kicks. Nothing worked. A leg brushed against inner things. Sparda's son felt his entire body quivering. Focusing on how much this tortured him only highlighted the fact this was actually quite _enjoyable_. Shame bled into his psyche as this fact was accepted.

One free hand leisurely passed over the navy ribbed shirt, before reaching the bottom and opting to explore underneath. Eyes narrowed and short gasps escaped the male's throat. Passionate kissing muffled that. Tender digits began massaging his torso, and heavy eyelids fell over ice blue eyes.

The demon knew Vergil was weakening, and instinctively lowered him to the floor. Both legs straddled the latter, tugging arms upwards, only to pin them to the floor with two sharp daggers formed from demonic essence. Pain shot through his hands, forcing him to fidget once again.

A distraction came from elsewhere, lessening the pain. His trousers started to feel a tad looser than before, and it became apparent that said clothing was being unfastened. A leg was hoisted and thrust at the creature, striking the mimic backwards. The Doppelganger clambered back onto its hands and feet, a countenance painted with the most playful of looks. They advanced, slinking along like a cat towards a wounded mouse. The white-haired individual found that crawling in the opposite direction to his opponent was a futile action as he came against a wall. Confusion and weakness meant Yamato would only lay on the floor, no more useful as a sword than a plank of wood.

Pinned, lips pecked his neck. Fighting pleasure was another unwinnable battle in this amatory war. But what was this battle_ for_? If only the mimic would explain. There had been no cause for revenge, no desire. Vergil disliked the idea of being in the wrong place at the wrong time.

A love bite brought him back to Hell. Fingers danced over his crotch, plucking at the brown trousers and tugging them down past his knees.

"N-no…" he barely purred, but this was only ignored. Digits curled around his length and began manipulating it, cutting off any rational thought. "D-" Not even a complete word was managed whilst his undergarments were pulled free as well, another kiss pressing into his lips. Writhing was unavoidable. The demon pulled his ribbed shirt apart to reveal a toned torso covered in light scars that were only just visible in the warm light.

Legs were spread and it wasn't too long before he also felt his member slipping inside the Doppelganger. A growl of rebellion exited his vocal chords, which soon became a rhythmic pattern of moans matching the surprisingly gentle rocking. The demon listened hard but couldn't quite make out the rushed words coming from the half-breed's lips. Hands grasped either side of 'Lady's' legs, holding them down in an effort to beg them to continue. The rocking grew more forceful, but the icy-eyed male stubbornly kept his mouth shut tight, well aware of coming close to the apex.

This level reached, he gave in to emotion-for what felt like the first time in many years-and released it in an excruciating roar of pure gratification. As the mimic slowly lifted itself off, it sent another wave of pleasure through Vergil's nervous system. How he wasn't completely paralysed by this felt like a miracle.

A forefinger passed down his sharp nose. "You had a little _too_ much fun, maybe?"

A blush of dark pink spread across the male's cheeks. Doubt crept into his mind, debating that, regardless of enjoyment, whether the actions were morally right or wrong? He could only wonder. This was enough justification for his mind and body to give in to exhaustion.

Remaining in the form of Lady, the demon pulled said hybrid into its arms and let the male's head rest on its lap. Thick locks of white were tenderly caressed, making Vergil's eyelids heavier to the point of drifting into a deep sleep. His psyche blacked out, now oblivious to anything but imagination.

* * *

A hard blink cleared the blurriness of waking. Finding himself alone in the room was unsettling, but only at first. _Whatever_ happened, whether factual or purely a dream, he was unsure, but there remained the flickering of something alien within his heart. Several minutes passed before the answer became clear. Images recurred over and over. Images of _that woman_. _That woman_ he hated. _Alien?_ No, these feelings were nostalgic. He would locate the real Lady, persuade her to do this, to remind him of thoughts once buried.

Unfortunately, locating that demon hunter wasn't going to be an easy task.

**The End**


End file.
